


Duality

by Royolis



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Drama, Gen, I am so sorry my poor sweet Kana, I blame everything on a friend who decided to do a FE:A tabletop RPG, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lies, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, Set after Chapter 23 in Awakening and the plan failed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royolis/pseuds/Royolis
Summary: I have to get away. To get out. I can't let them down. Any of them. Back home. Here. With the Gods. Where ever they may be. Not again. Never again.
I'm starving. I'm tired. I'm thirsty. I'll manage. Growling. Moans. Screams. They shamble towards me, sickening red glow encased in their eyes within their death remnants. 
I feel every shaky movement as the knife stabs me. I sink to the ground. I see my bow snapped under foot. Darkness slips from my peripherals and encumbers my sight completely.
I'm cold. I'm bleeding. I'm dying. I surrender to the darkness.
 

  Ophelia… forgive me…

---
Title is subject to change. Currently being called 'Duality'.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend has the idea of doing a Fire Emblem tabletop RPG set in future-past (or a dark timeline) of Awakening, plus a few other added in things, but mostly FE:A based. As soon as he told me this, the cogs started to turn. If three people from Ylisse could use a dragon’s power to get to Nohr, couldn’t it be the other way around? From there, I decided not only was I going to join this when he started it, but who I was going to be: Kana. Granted, the background that I have cooked up for the game is slightly different, but that’s anticipating other PC’s. This, however, is just including FE:A and no other OC’s (or important OC’s at least) or anything in his campaign other than setting. Added bonus, it helps me get into understand and feel out this character so when we do start playing, I know how to act and talk. Thus, we begin the sad and unfortunate tale of how Kana came to be stranded in an unfamiliar world with no friends.

I have to keep moving.

I have to get away.

To get out. 

I can't let them down.

_Any_ of them. 

Back home. Here. With the Gods.

Where ever they maybe.

Not again.

_Never_ again.

I'm starving. I'm tired. I'm thirsty.

I'll manage.

I'm stumbling. I'm faltering. I'm falling. 

I can't fail like this. The tight gap between me and those… I need to focus.

Growling. Moans. Screams. 

I feel a warm, damp drip across my skin. I fall back against a tree trunk, protecting my backside. 

Men. Women. Children. 

Soldiers. Farmers. Merchants. 

Husbands. Wives. Innocents.

All shambling towards me, sickening red glow encased in their eyes within their death remnants. 

The adrenaline makes my senses more exact.

I can hear the cries from a nearby village, begging for mercy. I can smell the heavy stench of rot and decay, blocking out the smokey smell of flames.

Most of all, I feel every shaky movement as the knife penetrates my abdomen. My breath leaves me. I sink to the ground. My deep breathing turns into shallow pants.

I see my bow snapped under foot. I can feel the uneven yanks on my arms, dragging me to Gods know where. 

I… I failed them.

Darkness slips from my peripherals and encumbers my sight completely.

I'm cold. I'm bleeding.

I'm _dying_. 

I surrender to the darkness.

_Ophelia… forgive me…_


	2. My Name is Kyou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll notice that he doesn’t use the name Kana. Just like in Fates, Owain, Inigo, and Severa don’t use their real names either. Kyou is indeed Kana.

“...are you positive th…”

“...ve him ma best crack addit, bu…”

“...ust lucky I was on patrol with you today, Brady! Golly, I'm nothing but trouble when it comes to healing… Oh? Oh! He's awake!”

The cheery brunette blocks my very blurred vision as her overly enthusiastic voice assaults my ears. I groan, trying to make my eyes focus. My skin is damp, but with a dripping chill instead of the steady trickle of warm blood. My parched throat is still dry, but not nearly as desperate as before. 

My attempt at sitting up are stopped by the top of healing staff, followed by a gravelly voice, “No, ya ain't gettin’ up on ma watch unless I say so. The wound to yer stomach is still fresh.”

The voice’s owner is a young man, hunched over using his staff for support. The lanky man of the cloth looks more like a thug than a priest, but I know better than to base everything on looks alone. The brunette beside him, saddling up a pegasus, looks a few years his younger and certainly acts like it too. Both are well armored with quality supplies. I sigh in relief.

“Sooo, what’s your name? My name’s Cynthia, soon to be a great hero of history!” she announces like I was deaf, striking a heroic pose I’d imagine my uncle making. All I mustered was a ‘heh’ at her childlike charm.

“K-Kyou. I’m a mercenary archer. The group I was with before got overrun by Risen. They told me to run because of my age…” I stammer out, depression and failure oozing from my words.

The healer pours another dose of the Vulnerary over my wound. I inhale through my teeth, choking back a moan. “Name’s Brady. I ain't one for formalities. Cynthia’s gonna be flyin’ ya back to our camp. I'll be right behind ya on my horse.” 

I weakly nod and thank them before drowsiness overtakes my sapped mental and physical states. Before sleep catches up with me, I painfully mount the winged steed, and their voices fade into the background.

…

My eyes open to the pale ivory stitch work of a well used tent. Pain isn't as apparent as it once was. I take it as a sign that I’ve been healed up fully. I sit up, looking for signs of Brady, Cynthia, or anyone before turning myself around to stand up off of the makeshift straw cot. Voices nearby explain the lack of people in here. I take a moment to relax to contemplate my renewed existence. Not that I am entirely happy with that outcome. My stomach roars mightier than a dragon when a lovely scent breaks my thoughts. 

Food.

I wobble up on my feet and make my way to the tent’s entrance. The flap opens and a bowl of hot stew is almost lost as I narrowly duck out of the way of a thin framed teen. She let's out a panicked ‘Eep!’ as she holds out the meal.

“I-I-I was told to check on you a-and to bring you food. P-please don't punish me!” 

I take the bowl from her, confused by her implications. I smile, “Relax. Why would I ever do that? I don't even know your name.”

Her shaking lightens into a nervous shuffle. “Noire. S-sorry, I never know what to expect from people…” She turns and gestures to follow. “I-I don't want to waste your time. Everyone's been waiting for you to wake up.”

I follow Noire to a larger tent where most of the voices are, gobbling up the stew. I even eat the carrots. The meat I can distinctly tell is bear; it's just something you pick up on with hunters.

The lively tent calmed when I enter, all eyes on me. Bad sign. Two familiar faces are at a table, enjoying dinner. Cynthia grins wide and waves. I nervously smile and give a small wave back. I look for the one who seems to be in charge. I lock eyes with an intelligent looking man in mage’s wear before he returns to his reading. Noire leaves me to go sit with the cleric and pegasus rider. I swallow my uneasiness and approach, giving a slight bow. “Hello, t-thanks for your help. My name is Kyou.”

He looks up from his book and closes it. The thin framed glasses that sit on his face make him appear older, but he can’t be much older than I am. He nods and offers me to sit down, so I do so.

“It’s wonderful to see you well, Kyou. I am Laurent, the Shepherd in command of search, rescue, and relocation of those affected by the Risen. I have been informed by Brady of your story. You have my condolences for what happened to your group.”

I frown at his statement, but I can hear the sincerity in his voice. My voice wavers as I respond, “Thank you, Laurent. But now’s not the time for grieving. If you have an additional bow, I’m willing to be of use. Payment being another bowl of that stew. I’m positively starving.”

He lets out a small chuckle, waves down someone to bring me another bowl and a glass of water, and tells me where they keep their additional weapons. I scarf down my meal quickly and chug the glass of water. The three others have already left to go on a patrol (I figure) by the time I finish. Following the directions, I find a small tent with many crates, stocked with a number of bronze and iron swords, a number of racks holding many iron and a few steel lances, and finally a crate with a few bows within. 

I take a steel bow, missing my Killer bow from before, and leave the tent to find somewhere I can try it out. Near the edge of camp, I begin to shoot arrows at a tree. Sure, I’m hitting my mark, but I still can’t get use to the balance and weight of Feroxi weapons. Much different than what I’m use to. Beggars can’t be choosers. 

It’s still close to midday as a I go to find Laurent to ask if anything needs to be done. I notice a few of the other soldiers and survivors hauling supplies to a cart, and I trot over to help load them up. It doesn’t take long, and the cart of people and supplies are off to be relocated with a soldier escort. Once again on my mission, I pass the mess hall to find an elderly woman struggling to cut and peel potatoes in her jittery hands. I offer her my help, getting not just the potatoes done, but the onions, carrots, and turnips all set for the soup tonight as well. 

By the time I reach Laurent’s tent (after getting turned around and asking for directions), the sky had turned a pretty orange, despite the grey wisps of smoke that still floated in the distance. I knock (as much as I can against a tent) and wait for a response before entering. The table he sits at is littered with notes, books, documents, letters, and some scientific reports. He doesn’t look up as he’s surveying over a map of the area.

“S-sorry for not reporting in sooner. I got turned around a bit on my way here and-”

“No need to apologize. I’ve heard from many that you’ve made yourself useful around camp. I thank you for your initiative.”

“No need to thank me, it’s the least I can do. Will you need any more people for patrols or watches or anything?”

Laurent pauses for a moment, the responds, “Have Brady check your wound first. But before I put you on anything, I would like to get to know you better in order to make an accurate judgement on where better to place you.”

He leans back in his chair and stares at me, relaxed but still with a reformed, professional look about him. He continues, “Based on my observations, your accent is… foreign. Some dialect from Chon’sin, perhaps? That would make sense for your name, but your skin contradicts that, as well as your facial structure and hair color; those would suggest Plegian decent. Your eyes would suggest Ylissian. And to add to your enigma, your mannerisms and cultural preferences seem closest to Feroxi. Kyou, where are you from originally before Grima rose to power?”

I’m speechless. Am I that much of an open book? I swallow my nerves. With a sigh, “I never really knew my mother that well, but from what my father had told me, she was of Plegian descent. He was of Ylissian, and I was raised in Chon’sin before my father passed away, a few years before Valm invaded my town. I decided to follow in his footsteps and became an archer for hire, which lead me to a contract in Ferox, where I have been ever since. My father thought me having a Chon’sinian name would help me to blend in.”

There’s a brief silence before I add, “Sorry for the confusion.”

Laurent nods, and dismisses the apology. He follows up, “Where did you learn to use the bow: Ferox or Chon’sin?”

“My father was trained in Ylisse, but he learned from a man from Ferox. When he taught me, I guess it was a combination between the styles of Ylisse and Ferox.”

“Was your mother Grimleal?”

“Father never told me.”

“Are you?”

I snort in disgust. “What kind of question is that?”

“One that I have to ask.” Laurent fires back.

Still rather insulted that he even asks that, I answer quickly, “No. Never.”

He looks me over and sighs. “Let me know if Brady thinks you’re well enough. I’ll arrange a position for you. For now, use the tent you were kept in before to sleep. I’ll inform you of any sudden changes.”

I pleasantly smile back and thank him for his time. Fires are being lit as the oranges fade to the navy of nightfall. I sit by Cynthia and Noire at dinner, not a smart choice on my part because the pegasus knight fires question after question at me. 

“Where you from?” “Why did you become an archer?” “Are you ok?” “What’s your favorite story?”

I shrink back, a bit overwhelmed by the raw enthusiasm. “I… uh… I’m from Chon’sin, but I’ve been working in Ferox for a while. My father was an archer. I’m perfectly fine. And… uh… hmm…” The last question I don’t know how to answer. Or at least, answer correctly. “...I don’t really have a favorite story, sorry.”

Cynthia looks a bit disappointed when I finally answer the last question, but she perks back up. “That’s ok! I’ll tell you a lot of them, though Owain knows how to tell them far better than I ever can!”

Owain.

A name I recognize. 

I mask my face with interest in listening to her stories as my mind wanders into deep thought. Owain is here. Alive, for the moment at least. Maybe this is the right timeline after all. Of course, this is one of several tens, hundreds, thousands… I miss Noire’s question just thinking about it.

“...get it?”

“Hmm? I’m sorry, I was zoning out. Can you repeat the question?”

“Your necklace, where did you get it?” Noire points at my chest.

I instinctively move my hand to hold it, hesitant to hide it within my shirt but decide not to. My smile weakens as I explain, “It’s… It’s my mother’s. She passed before I even got to know her, but it was near and dear to her. My father held onto it everyday until he passed, and now I hold onto it to remember both of them.”

Noire was about to say something else, but was cut off by Cynthia’s “Awww! How sweet!”. There’s still the look of questioning on her face, but she remains silent for the rest of the meal on the matter. Cynthia quiets down and surprises me, “I use my mother’s lance in battle to remember her by.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I sincerely reply, still amazed at her optimism after such an event.

“I’m alright now, don’t you worry! It was a while ago, so I’m over it.” 

I could tell she was bluffing, but decide not to press further. The rest of the conversation is just getting to know each other. Brady joins in later after most of our meals are done, exhausted.

“The injured this time ain’t as bad as it was a littl’ while ago. I can actually sleep tonight,” he reports, falling into his chair lazily. 

“Good to hear. Hey, do you mind checking my wound after you finish eating? Laurent won’t let me do anything until I get your approval,” I ask him after handing him a small dinner roll.

Brady grunts a yes and bites into the roll. The meal continues with more questions, stories, inside jokes, and the usual complaints when friends talk. We separate off when we tire out, Brady and I heading towards the tent I was treated in. As the tent flap closes behind Brady, I take off my shirt so he can inspect the wound without fussing with it.

For a brief moment, I think of my sister and how she’d react to all this:

> _The young cleric followed the archer into the tent, ready to examine the wound his chest. The archer, knowing this, revealed his defined chest, the skin soft despite its chiseled form. The healer took in the heavenly sight before him and thanked Naga as he traced each muscle with a delicate touch, making his way to the wound on his abdomen..._

Gods dammit. Why am I doing this? I really should have had Uncle use that spell on me.

“Welp, ya seem to be healin’ nicely. I give ya the ok. Just don’t be doin’ anythin’ too crazy, ya hear?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Great. Thanks, Brady. I’ll let Laurent know in the morning,” I snap back from my prior regrets to respond. He nods and says a good night as he leaves. Alone in the tent once more, I sigh. I flop onto the cot and stare up at ceiling.

How many lies have I told today? How many lies do I still have to keep track of? Is it even worth it any more?

I ask myself these questions every night. Well, ever since that night. The night I want to forget the most. I know there will be nightmares when I sleep. I know I’ll likely be crying when I wake. I whisper a small prayer under my breath. For them. For my family. For my friends. For me. And for the girl I left behind.


End file.
